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America's Goatman
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Poem Stories We would see him from the schoolbus
As he slowly walked along.
A book was underneath his arm
And he chanted gospel songs.
Oh, the little gypsy wagon
Where he lived while on the road,
Rolled right along beside that man,
Pulled by lines of harnessed goats.
Try picturing that wondrous scene
Once that I was privy to.
The "Goatman" passing through our town
Caused quite a stir, much ado.
His hair was silvery and thick.
His beard grew long and full then.
His clothes were simple and much worn.
We knew him as THE GOATMAN!
We kids would run to windows all
As the bus passed by and see
The goatman and his entourage,
His destiny a mystery.
We never thought about his past
Or why he roamed our roadside.
Enchanted by that caravan
I thought he lived the good life.
Pots and pans, and chains and harness
Hung all over his wagon.
He walked and carried newborn goats,
Those tied behind were draggin'.
For many years he brightened days
That otherwise were boring.
I asked a million questions then
But no one knew his story.
Well, I've grown up and now I know
What happened to the Goatman.
So I'll tell you this story true.
I wish you could have seen him.
The book he often carried then
I found out was the Bible.
He walked and talked of Jesus Christ
To any he found idle.
He sang and traveled countryside,
This man named Ches McCartney.
Reaching those in the far byways,
Keeping alive His Story.
I have a pencil sketch at home
Of the goatman and his crew.
The shaggy beard, his precious goats
That Larry K. Martin drew.
Of all my childhood memories
The Goatman I find special.
His purpose was a private one
And to it he was faithful.
It came out in the paper here,
"The Goatman Dies In Macon".
Yet in my heart I see him still,
Each faltering step he's taking.
I only wish my sons could have
That picture plain in their minds--
The Goatman and his little flock--
A hero now for all time.
The Goatman will never die as long as your poem tells his story. This work reminds me of my youth, and the gypsy caravans which used to park in our neighbor's farm fields every summer, and the tinkers would come to our home and offer to repair our pots and pans.
Thanks loads!
Ken
My Secret River
This is a very moving tribute to a unique and beautiful messanger of God. I was touched. You have a gift for drawing us into fascinating scenes from the past. Wonderful poem! Pat
Jessica, I love your goatman story! He sounds like the kind of person I would have liked to know! I was always drawn to people who seemed like castaways when I was growing up... Still am for that matter! I found that they have alot to teach about life.
Peace and love ~~~~ Dougie ~~